


Identification

by English is my death (Lena013)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Dragon feels like a bastard, Dragon sees Sabo as a substitute, Ethical Dilemmas, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monogamy, Moral Dilemmas, Past Relationship(s), Pseudo-Incest, Sabo is too loyal a subordinate, Substitution, Superior/Subordinate, but he does it, replacement of love, using your position
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26440501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena013/pseuds/English%20is%20my%20death
Summary: Sometimes the Dragon was afraid of how much Sabo looked like her.Версия на русском.
Relationships: Monkey D. Dragon/Monkey D. Luffy's Mother, Monkey D. Dragon/Sabo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Identification

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Careful Fear and Dead Devotion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729805) by Anonymous. 



> LET'S SAY A HUGE THANK YOU TO BETA!  
>  **Edited by:** [foryoureyesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foryoureyesonly1/pseuds/foryoureyesonly1/)

Sometimes Dragon was afraid of how much Sabo looked like _her_.

From a smile, to a squint of the eyes; from a loud laugh, to a genuine concern for the whole world; from the amount of coffee per day, to wrinkles. Dragon saw little things that he shouldn't have seen, that he shouldn't have tried to find, things that should have been a million times lesser. But the longer he looked, the harder it became to ignore.

Dragon wasn't sure exactly when it started. When did he begin to see what was not there? To hear the echoes of familiar thoughts in someone else's voice? To feel someone else's fingers in short handshakes, greetings? When had he started making comparisons, lost in memories and massaging the tension in his temple?

 _She_ was smiling through an alien face that had nothing to do with her features, her tanned skin, her dimples — but those were the things that Dragon couldn't see.

Now he thinks of the scars on her skin, each holding a silent story that she never shared. Sabo has more scars, much, much more, mostly from burns and minor abrasions, and maybe a few teeth marks from some unknown predator. Dragon knows that if he hadn't been present, he wouldn't have been told the story of the burns along the left side of Sabo's body and face, either. Sabo always winces, hiding the scars behind layers of clothing, behind the long, wavy, golden bangs, behind puffed-up bravery, telling everyone that he doesn't care about them — _even in this, he looks like a woman he's never met._

This frightens Dragon immensely.

Dragon would definitely have less of a problem and dilemma if Sabo wasn't around the same age as his son. _If Sabo wasn't a brother to his son_. And maybe if he didn't mind.

Dragon wished that he was like Luffy's mother in that. It had been impossible to get her attention without direct words and even more direct actions — she was as impenetrable as the Red Line. Hell, she did not recognize the word "hint" in her nature without seeing it firsthand. Sabo was irritatingly different; understanding, seeing to the root, seeing the tension in the air and the mistakes he made in gestures. It was a good thing that _her and Luffy's_ insight wasn't transmitted through droplets of air.

Dragon clumsily pretends that nothing has happened, that he is not the one who was persistently staring at someone else's Adam's Apple, wrapped in a loose tie, as someone else's voice clearly and meticulously read out reports, as black-gloved fingers glided through the air, because neither she nor he could speak without gesticulating with their hands. _Dragon recalls that his son, who is a breathing ball of energy and movement, is particularly affected by this._

Sabo tilts his head slightly to the side, a gesture so charmingly _familiar_ that Dragon dismisses the Chief of Staff with his hand, not trusting his voice.

That's right, the most important thing is not to call someone else's name, even when it is on the tip of the tongue. Because it is completely feminine, which has nothing to do with "Sabo", especially when it is looked at with respect, and youthful adoration.

Something dark, cynical, and egotistical in his mind reasons that if he asks, if he orders his own Chief of Staff to lie down with him in his bed, he will not refuse. He is overly faithful, crazily devoted, hell, he probably wouldn't even say too much. But then the mind collapses with shame, wasting no time, and Dragon, who wants to cling to these thoughts, because _she_ would definitely never do such a thing, feels like the worst kind of scum.

Sabo is his son's brother. He's _her_ son's brother. In some other life, he might as well have been his son.

At this thought, Dragon grins, and then covers his face with his hands — damn, he is disgusting.

The truth is that Sabo is young and, despite his own disdain for the mirror, quite handsome. It's the first word that comes to mind when his Chief of Staff just won't shut up about Luffy; his eyes are burning with love and tenderness, he's overflowing with genuine enthusiasm, uncontrolled fire dancing on his arms, shoulders and hair. His throat is dry from the words, but he doesn't stop talking; he talks, talks and talks about his little brother, his son. At this, two thoughts cross Dragon's mind: _she_ would have said just as much about their son, and there was only ever one good way to get _her_ to shut up, which brought them to a clear horizontal surface of the table… Dragon cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek, his face darkening as he wants to close his eyes, so he doesn't see or feel the other person's smile, his light and the slight worry on his face.

He looks up at Dragon, happy, with his blue eyes, _never brown_ ; and the hair is blindingly bright, springy, lightweight, wavy, _never black and straight_ ; and a style of battle, with a pole at the ready, the fire in his veins radiating and intimidating enemies with a grin, _never fists, stubbornness, and unstoppable passion_. Yet he stays most of the time, polite, neat, clever, before and after the amnesia, _never not straight, smashing against the wall, and it is never not a complete faux pas on Dragon's part and never not with an apologetic smile, yeah, this was a bashful boy, rather than an adult woman_.

But then Sabo stops, blinks once or twice, jumps or walks with a precise step, laughs or has a serious conversation, looks or turns to him for a moment — and that's it, Dragon is drowning in his own endless yearning, memories and comparisons. 

His Chief of Staff smiles brightly at him, one thing overlaps with another, and no matter how much he blinks, no matter how much he clings to blue eyes, burn scars, or a man's ( _not her_ ) name, he can't get rid of the ghost of the past behind someone else's shoulder. The moment he wants to say his name... someone else's name comes out. In the middle of the first syllable, he finds himself met with a child-like, simple-minded misunderstanding in the eyes looking back at him.

The silence is prolonged when Dragon does not comment on his mistake, and Sabo does not know what to say. Dragon looks from up and down for a second, maybe two, well, he thinks he's not going to be so lucky a third time anyway. He thinks that fate may have taken pity or mocked him all these years. And in theory, in some other reality, his son or father might well have knocked the wind out of him, not that they would have been wrong, or _would ever find out about it, for that matter._

He was also right, his Chief of Staff was overly faifthful for his own good.

 _She_ would have kicked him for sure — Sabo _wouldn't_.

That's the difference.


End file.
